


took my heart upon a one way trip

by alwayslouis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, cute boys being cute, harry loves to sit and admire louis in every universe, not enough books for a bookshop au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 02:24:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10427073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwayslouis/pseuds/alwayslouis
Summary: in which, louis needs help with a poetry assignment and harry can't stop staring at the pretty boy who walked into his bookshop. the other three are in there too.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cityofstarsss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cityofstarsss/gifts).



> Hiiii,  
> This is my very first attempt at fic writing, so please go easy on me. Thanks to Alyssa for bullying me into doing this. All mistakes are my own. xx
> 
> Harry's texts are in **bold**.  
>  Louis' are in _italics_.

There are times when Harry loves his job at ‘Mockingbird’. Granted, most of those are days when London has, in its characteristic way, embraced rain and banished the sun to some happier place, the days when it’s bleak and grey outside and the bookshop itself is warm and quiet. Those days Harry is free to abandon his post by the counter, or worse, shelving. 

Today, however, is most definitely not one of those days. Today he has had to consign his latest Bukowski acquisition to the shelf in the back room, inform three different people that they are all out of copies of ‘fifty shades of grey’ and tell off a child who decided to treat the children’s section as a warzone. And worst of all, he’s stuck with stacking.   
He can hear Zayn humming to himself in the backroom instead of being useful, while he’s stuck trying to arrange three copies of Mary Berry’s new book into some kind of eye-catching arrangement that nick will deem aesthetically appealing. Look, he loves Bake Off as much as the next person (after all he did used to be a baker) but it’s quite unfair that he can’t use Zayn’s excuse of having soulful eyes and dramatic cheekbones to skive off work. Such is the burden of a mere mortal. If Zayn weren’t his best friend, he’d probably hate him.

After fifteen minutes to precarious positioning, Harry leaves the books alone and glances around the shop. There are no more errant children trying to tear pages from classic literature and thankfully, no more bored housewives looking for the thrill of a racy novel, but the shop is still quite full. Nick likes to encourage people to sit and read, so the ‘Mockingbird’ has plenty of stuffy armchairs and soft cushions littered about and sometimes even Zayn decides to take a break from doing nothing by sinking into one of the beanbag chairs with a good novel (those are the days that the shop reaches its maximum capacity. Harry is pretty sure that Nick hired Zayn solely because his face has way more selling power than any strategic book arranging.) He’s just about to decide that the shop is calm enough for him to sneak in some reading when a boy walks in.

The first thing Harry notices about him is his voice – it is high pitched and kind of raspy, unusual but definitely not unpleasant, but the incongruity is mostly due to its volume, as he chatters away to his companion. The loud Yorkshire accent in the quiet shop turns a lot of heads. Unphased by the attention, the boy lowers his voice and goes on talking to his friend animatedly, giving Harry the perfect opportunity to indulge in his second favourite pastime at the shop – people watching. The boy is short, but not in an obvious way and dressed well in fitted jeans and a soft jumper. His hair, a brownish, gold, caramel-y colour (Harry never claimed to be good at descriptions) sits soft across his forehead as he periodically reaches up to adjust it. He’s obviously beautiful, but the softness lends him an added appeal. Harry can feel the tendrils of attraction stirring in his stomach. The boy he’s with is taller and well-built and bears a striking resemblance to David Beckham. Even through the plaid shirt, Harry can tell that he’s hiding an impressive set of biceps. Observation (Zayn calls it his creepy frog staring, Zayn is wrong) complete, Harry is sure of one thing and that is that these two boys are rather out of place in a bookshop like this one.

He’s just about to go up and offer his help, mood considerably improved, because even working with Zayn doesn’t make him immune to sharp cheekbones and stunning hair, when the man himself appears and makes his way over to them. Harry lets out a huff, knowing when to admit defeat, as he watches his friend ask the newcomers if they need assistance. He figures he might as well get behind the till so that he can continue watching them for a bit.

He can hear snippets of the conversation from where he’s standing. The short one, whom he’s calling Delicious in his head, keeps telling his friend ‘Li’ that they don’t need help. This Li however, seems unable to resist the powers of a flirty Zayn. He sees Delicious scoff and roll his eyes and that makes him perk up. Anyone immune to Zayn gets an automatic plus in his book. He’s torn out of his daydreams when he hears what they’re actually discussing.

“…well, basically the assignment is to write a poem out of a bunch of other people’s poems. And we went to the library first but someone”, here Li takes a minute to glare at Delicious, who seems to be mumbling under his breath about not knowing that the weed smell was _that_ obvious, before continuing, “got us banned for life, so one of our mates told us to come here.”

“Who’s your friend,” Zayn asks, and wow, Harry can see him pulling out all the stops with his flirting, head tilted back and hip cocked. “Do we know him around here?”

“Think you might actually,” Delicious pipes up, and his accent really is a delight “’S Niall Horan. Irish, bad dye job, way too happy all the time.”

“You’re mates with Niall? So’s our Harry here.” And now he’s gesturing towards harry, which is rather unfair, if you ask him, since he’s only spoken to Niall twice when he comes into the shop to look at sound engineering books, hardly qualifying as friendship. But Zayn’s still talking about him. “Yeah, our Harry’s also the resident expert on poetry so it’d probably be for the best if I sent you his way.”

Way to throw him under the bus, Harry thinks as he blinks rapidly. Just because he enjoys reading some poetry in his spare time doesn’t mean he’s an expert. Why is this happening to him? But the two boys led by Zayn are walking his way now and he has no way to hide.

“Alright H, no point in pretending you didn’t hear every word of that, since it’s the only thing interesting that’s happened in this god forsaken place all day.” And isn’t that easy for him to say, when he’s been napping in the back while Harry was the one stuck with work. “What do say we help our new friends Liam and sorry mate, what did you say your name was?”

“Louis, mate, nice to meet ya.” And it was Zayn who asked the question, but Delicious Louis is looking at Harry and holding his hand out to shake. Okay, this is not Harry’s first time interacting with a pretty boy; he can totally do this without embarrassing himself. Totally. He’s pretty sure the breath has already left his lungs though because Louis’ eyes are blue, blue, _blue_ and he can hear a million ocean metaphors running through his head. Getting through this unscathed is looking less likely now.

Wordlessly, Harry takes the proffered hand, trying to process the sensory overload. Delicious Louis’ hand is small in Harry’s grasp, but his grip is strong and, oh, is that the edge of a tattoo peaking from his sleeve and his skin is so soft and why is he staring at Harry, oh right, it’s his turn to talk,

“Hiii. ‘M Harry. Part time worker and poetry enthusiast here at ‘Mockingbird’.” He can practically feel Zayn’s eye roll at his lame introduction, but he decides to ignore it for the sake of his mental health and the fact that Delicious Louis is smiling at him.

“So, since the library decided to lower its social ranking by kicking us out and Liam here can barely read, ‘m afraid my English grade may have to depend on you, Harold.”

“’S just Harry actually,” Harry says, privately resolving that Delicious Louis could call him ‘dickhead’ if he wanted, as long as he did it with that little smile on his face.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not Hagrid come to whisk you off to Hogwarts, innit,” Louis laughs and wow Potter references in the first five minutes, Harry might be in love.

“Well, I think you two should start looking on that side, and Liam and I can explore around here,” interrupts Zayn. At any other time, Harry would have spent at least five minutes making fun of Zayn for his obviousness, but first, it’s been a while since he’s seen him show interest in anyone and more importantly, there’s a Delicious Louis waiting for him.

Maybe today’s not such a bad day after all.

*

They’re standing in front of the poetry section now. In fact, they’ve been standing here for at least ten minutes because Louis likes to talk and he’s also incredibly funny and sweet and cheeky, and it’s possible that Harry may already be in over his head. He decides to steer the conversation into safer waters before he does something crazy like propose marriage.

“So, what exactly is this assignment that you need my expertise in?”

“Well, Harold, our English professor seems to think that uni is easy and so we should all be lumped with extra work to pay for our sins or whatever. She gave us this list,” he’s digging through his pockets for a slightly crumpled sheet of paper with a bunch of anthologies and their publications on it, “and she wants us to compile a poem using, like, lines from these other people’s poems. It’s all a bit complex for me, there are reasons I decided to study drama and not English, and poetry is all of them; but looks like I got stuck with this anyway. Guess I figured actually getting me hand on the books would be a good start.”

“I’ll be honest, it sounds like a really cool project to me.” Harry replies, mind already racing with possibilities.

“Well, you would think that. I know the likes of you, filthy hipster. You’re all about pretentious art and music that sounds like a bunch of cats drowning. Guess Niall was right, this should be right up your alley.”

Harry doesn’t even have it in him to pretend to be mad at this insult to his personality; he’s wearing suede boots for Christ’s sake, so Louis is probably right in his estimation and by god, does that mischievous smirk look good on him.

“Be that as it may, Lewis, it is a cool project. With poems, it’s often a line or a phrase that really stands out with you. And you could pick up a bunch of those and put them together and come up with something that really echoes with you. It’s brilliant.”

Louis’ smile softens while Harry speaks and yes, now he’s feeling butterflies in his stomach. This kind of thing doesn’t happen in real life. But the mellow afternoon sun outside is real, and the reflected glow on Louis’ skin is definitely real, as is his golden voice when he says,

“Well, looks like I’ve come to the right person then. Go on then, Harold, educate me.”

They go through the list together, finding books and bantering back and forth. Louis doesn’t seem very confident as he flips through some pages, expression blank. But he’s smiling again when he looks up.

“And what should i do if I have more questions?”

Harry knows flirting when he sees it. He can’t help the grin from forming on his face.

“Guess you’ll have to come back here.”

Louis rolling his eyes and rummaging through the pockets of his tight, _tight_ jeans (definitely a blessing from god himself, because the way they cling to his thighs is precisely the reason Harry nicknamed him Delicious in the first place) before coming up with his phone.

“Or you could leave this world,” he says, gesturing to the ‘nineteenth century verse’ collection on the top of his pile, “and join the twenty first century and give me your number, yeah?”

Harry can feel the blush rising to his cheeks but who can blame him when Delicious Louis is asking for his number. He types it in, his mind a rush of _‘he wants my number, he likes me too’_ and then ushers him over to the billing area.

Zayn’s behind the counter, still deep in conversation with Liam. They look up as the others approach

“Find anything, Lou?” Liam asks, a couple of books in his own hands. Looks like Zayn’s not been totally useless then.

“Dunno but Harold here was a great help. Don’t think I’ll be failing this one.”

Zayn rings them up and then they’re leaving as quickly as they came, in a rush of words and smiles. Harry can’t help but wonder when he’ll see them, or at least Louis, again.  
Almost as some kind of cosmic irony, his phone buzzes in his pocket. Zayn’s wandered off to the back room again now that his object of interest has gone. So Harry settles down behind the till and checks the two new texts he’s received.

_Hi, it’s Delicious Louis.  
You think out loud, sometimes. Xx_

It’s only the two kisses at the end that stop him from banging his head repeatedly on the counter.

*

As it turns out, he and Louis get along really well. They’ve been texting every day, often till the wee hours of the night about anything and everything. Harry would even go so far as to say they’re proper friends now. Louis tends to pop in at the shop sometimes between classes, sometimes to finish some work for class, sometimes to bother Harry while he shelves. Either way, they’ve become a constant presence in each other’s lives and harry can feel his crush growing with each day.

He’s at the shop now, and it’s one of those slow days that he loves, but this time his book is still in the backroom and his mind is totally occupied by Louis.

As if on cue, his phone lights up.

_Harold come save me_

And although he’s pretty sure that he’d do anything for Louis already, Harry’s very comfortable splayed out in one of nick’s plushy armchairs. A text will have to do for now.

**I’m not one to shirk my knight in shining armour duties, but you’d need a very good reason to get me out of this chair. What’s wrong?**

_Liams ditched me for your Zayn even though he promised hed help me so now I havent even started the stupid poetry thing and now Im gonna fail and then youll have to support me on your terrible salary_

**Judging from your punctuation, it’s a good thing you’re not studying English.**

_What are you implying curly_

Harry can just imagine the look of total indignation on Louis’ face and he’s considering the emojis with which to reply, when he’s interrupted by a voice, Louis’ voice specifically, right in front of him.

“Honestly, maligning your friends and neglecting your job at the same time. How could you Harold?” But his wide grin belies his words.

“Louis!” and wow, Harry really needs to tone down his excitement. “What are you doing here?”

“Told you. I was in danger of failing. And since you think you’re the best at poetry and punctuation and other completely unnecessary skills, here I am. Teach me your ways.” And then he’s dumping all the books he’d bought last week as well as some others right there onto the counter. Harry thumbs through a couple of them; they’re old, with cracked spines and yellowed pages.

“Thought you didn’t like poetry?” he asks, trying to perfect the arched eyebrow that Louis calmly delivers every time harry makes a bad pun.

“They’re me mum’s” Louis says, softer, as he pulls a chair up and settles with his chin resting on the desk, looking expectantly at Harry.

“Alright, I’ll help you. But I fully expect to be compensated.” he says, pretending as though every aspect of his being isn’t screaming about how easy he is for Louis.

“Well,” and Louis’ gaze is firm, the blue, _blue_ eyes focused right at him and is that a hint of a dimple in his cheek. Harry thinks he looks like an autumn morning and is maybe more than a little overwhelmed to be the centre of his attention. “If you help me get an A on this, Styles, I suppose I’d owe you a date.”

The butterflies are back now and he doesn’t even bother trying to tamp down the grin taking over his face as he pulls the books towards him.

“Alright then. Suppose we have to get you the best possible poem on earth.”

And then they’re just smiling at each other for a bit, their own piece of paradise while London buzzes on outside.

*

Things are not looking up for Louis and Harry. They’ve been at it for at least two hours, trying to fit lines together, but nothing sounds right. There’s also the part where Louis bookmarked his favourite poems and they’re nothing at all like what Harry expected so of course he wants to read all of them and add more details to the highly layered character that is Louis, and can this boy be any better. So now they have three half-finished bits and they’ve resorted to idle chatter while Louis doodles a very detailed drawing of a penis into his notebook.

“Nice touch,” Harry remarks after a lull in conversation as he watches him shade in a vein.

“Well young Harold, this is Dick Almighty. It deserves proper respect from peasants like you.” He says, as he signs the doodle with a flourish.

“I don’t think anyone says ‘peasants’ in real life Lou, and I think you’ll find that my dick is actually at least a prince, if not the king itself.”

“You’re awfully _cock_ sure.”

There’s a pause. He wouldn’t. Harry has to ask,

“Did you just make a pun about a penis?”

“Well you did say you love penis jokes that one time.”

He did. And honestly it was enough even before Louis decided to remember every tiny detail of their text conversations. He really is the perfect boy.

“And anyway, your dick is not even gonna receive its proper rank in the British nobility because I don’t think I’m gonna pass this poem thing and you won’t even get a first date, let alone enough for …”

His voice trails off and Harry doesn’t think he’s ever smiled for so long.

“We can’t have that now, can we?”

“Glad you finally realise the importance of the situation, Harold. Now tell me what to do.”

“Perhaps we’ve been going about this all wrong. Maybe it would be better to pick a theme first? Or like a storyline? Something you want to say? And then fit the lines to that. I don’t know since the other ways haven’t worked. I’m really just flying –.”

He stops unsure, because Louis seems to have frozen in place. Then he smiles and there’s a flurry of activity as he grabs all his books and begins to shove them into his bag.  
“You’re a genius Harold,” he yells, halfway out of the door already. “I’ll call you later.”

And that’s enough to put the smile back on his face as he waves him out of sight.

*

It’s been two weeks since Louis came by the shop. Harry might have officially passed from bored straight into upset and pouty. He knows that Louis’ already finished his assignment because Liam was here yesterday, being obnoxiously cute with Zayn, and he’d asked him. So there’s really no reason for him to be avoiding harry, unless he’s regretting asking him on a date. But Harry’s been banned from thinking along those lines because Zayn says his sad frog face is worse than his normal serial killer frog stare.

So now he’s just sort of in limbo and he’s hurt, mostly because Louis’ not even replying to his texts. His phone is open to their chat and there’s been no reply to his jaunty little ‘good morning’s for a week. He scrolls up to the last reply he got. He’d sent a hilarious joke he’d found on twitter ( **What do you call it when a banana eats another banana? Canabananalism!** ) and Louis had replied with an eye roll emoji. He misses their banter, and Louis’ sarcasm, and his laugh, and Louis in general.

‘Mockingbird’ is busy today, but he’s too sulky to care. He’s got the closing shift, because Nick is out with friends and Zayn is out with Liam, but he’s not looking forward to it. The whole thing with Louis has got him out of sorts. He just wants to go home and sleep.

By the time it’s seven o’ clock, the shop is empty but for him and he’s shelving. _Voluntarily_. Curse pretty boys for messing with the balance of the universe.

He’s just about to turn the sign in the window to ‘closed’ even though it’s too early, because it doesn’t look like anyone else is going to be coming in and what Nick doesn’t know won’t hurt him, when the door burst open and then Louis’ here in a whirlwind of boy and rain.

He looks almost the same as he did the first time he was here; wearing a soft jumper and dark jeans, but his fringe is damp, as are the end of sleeves. The smile on his face is nervous and Harry doesn’t have the inclination to analyse that because he’s _here_.

“Hi,” he says stepping forwards, before tripping in the puddle he’s brought in with him and almost colliding headfirst with Harry.

“Oops,” Harry says, steadying him, because it’s been two weeks but he’s still as easy for him as ever.

Louis’ clutching onto a sheet of paper, he notices. He’s also being suspiciously quiet.

“You haven’t been replying to my texts”, Harry can’t help the note of disgruntlement that’s crept into his voice.

“Yeah, sorry I,” he’s hesitating and it’s so different from Louis’ regular behaviour but somehow even more endearing. “I just wanted to be sure first.” And then he’s thrusting the paper in Harry’s direction.

There’s a big red A scrawled on top, and below that a poem.

A glimpse through an interstice caught,  
And between us there was hardly any air.  
I would that you were all to me,  
There will be time to wonder, “Do I dare?”  
I did, and Love bade me welcome,  
Now my heart leaps up when I behold  
You, with a look of exultation.  
(I never noticed anything but you.)  
Thus, we sit together now,  
Let our dreams speak for us side by side.  
So we awake forever in a sweet unrest,  
Tell me we’ll never get used to it.

And under it, Louis’ hasty scrawl saying, “Dinner on Friday night? Xx”

For a moment Harry is stunned. Louis has written him a poem. He knew even at the start that this kind of thing isn’t common, the ease with which they got on, the instant spark that went beyond attraction, the connection between them that often felt like fate or destiny or some such other impossible thing. But now he’s holding proof that Louis feels the same, that Louis wants to keep feeling the same for a long time and the bubbling in his stomach feels a lot like uncontainable happiness.

He can see Louis avoiding eye contact, nervousness etched in every line of his face. He wants to reach out and smooth the lines on his forehead and laugh a bit at his worry but this is the silly, ridiculous, wonderful boy who refused to reply to his texts. He folds the poem carefully and slips it into his pocket and then steps smoothly into Louis’ space.

“Lou.”

“Look, I know it sounds dumb okay but you said to use the assignment to say something, and Niall told me you’re always reading poetry, and I’m so attracted to you I can’t think, but I also want to talk to you all the time and listen to your stupid jokes even though you always start laughing before you reach the punchline and you talk impossibly slow, that’s not even normal and why are you just staring at me?” he stops his tirade to take a breath and it seems like he plans to continue. But Harry’s heard enough and he needs to get his hands on Louis yesterday. 

So he does.

Placing one hand on his waist (quieting the whisper of _‘so tiny, so delicate, they fit so well’_ in his head) he can’t help the fond smile on his face as he murmurs, “Lou, you’re an idiot.”

“But you liked the poem right? So you’ll date me? Anyway I believe I owe your dick a knight- .”

And Harry has to huff out a laugh before he’s kissing him. Louis is soft in his arms, but firm and he tastes of caramel and something quintessentially Louis. He’s barely got used to the feel of him when Louis’ wrapping both arms around his neck and biting down on his lip just the way he likes and making him a little lightheaded. It’s probably a bit too intimate of a kiss to be shared in public so it’s a good thing that their world right now consists of only this empty shop.

They pull back eventually, mouths red and shiny, breathing hard and looking equal amounts of debauched and happy and Harry doesn’t want to let go of him just yet. Louis seems to share that feeling and they settle into a hug. It’s quiet and perfect and Harry can’t keep the smile off of his face because they feel the same this is really happening this is the best moment of his life, when the other boy pipes up,

“So about that date?”

And Harry’s never been one to give up on banter.

“Depends. What if you think my dick’s only worthy of being an earl?”

“Nonsense Harold, there will be no dick business until at least the third date.” The look in his eyes as he grip around Harry tightens seems to say otherwise. Harry wonders if it’s too soon to be falling in love.

“Looks like I’ll have to stick around till date number three then,” he quips anyway.

“More like date number three hundred,” Louis smiles.

And then they’re kissing again, their intertwined bodies creating a different kind of poetry in that empty bookshop as the rain thunders on outside.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on an assignment i once had to do. Hope it wasn't too much of a struggle to get through.
> 
> Mentioned poems:  
> A glimpse, Walk Whitman  
> The kiss, Stephen Dunn  
> Two in the Campagna, Robert Browning  
> The love song of J Alfred Prufrock, T S Eliot  
> Love, George Herbert  
> My heart leaps up when i behold, William Wordsworth  
> Hiawatha's song, H W Longfellow  
> The Wall Hanging I never noticed, Dorothea Lasky  
> Porphyria's Lover, Robert Browning  
> The ecstasy, Phillip Lopate  
> Bright star, John Keats  
> Scheherazade, Richard Siken


End file.
